Oofdaa...I just got done working out. I'm sore, but it's a good sore.
I like working out, but I typically prefer free weights to machines. Dad bought a weight bench a long time ago (back before I knew what it was), and hardly a week goes by where we don't use it...when I'm at home, anyway.
We have bought (somewhat) into the machine concept, though. There was one night, about two years back, where one of those annoying Home-Gym-All-In-One commercials came on. You know what I'm talking about, the one with the annoying guy with his shirt off flexing for the camera and going "You can look like me in just two weeks if you buy this!!" (Side note here; that thing's been in our house for two years and I look nothing like him. Maybe they need a disclaimer.) Mom thought that getting one might be a good idea, since she hates free weights. So, my family and I pile into the truck to head to the city.
I will give the machines this; some of them are pretty cool. While Mom and Dad browsed, I struck up a conversation with one of the guys who worked there. He looked like he could have been the guy in the commercial, except he (thankfully) had his shirt on. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Do you like these machines?"
Random Store Guy: "Yeah, some of them are pretty cool."
Me: "Do you have a favorite?"
RSG: "Oh sure, that one." *points*
Me: "Any particular workouts you do on it?"
RSG: *mimes picking one up and carrying it* "Yah, I pick them up and put them on trucks."
Well played, random store guy.
The irony of weight machines struck me when Dad, Nemesis and I were trying to get the machine Mom picked out into the house. The stupid thing weighed about 400 pounds. And we had to carry it down two flights of stairs. You have to be a professional weight lifter just to install the thing. Mom tried to help, if standing at the top of the stairs and telling us the blatantly obvious can be considered helping...
Mom: "Be careful!"
Dad: "Yeah, honey, we'll be very careful. Nemesis, watch your corner!"
Me: "OOMPH. Don't worry, I got it. Turn it now?"
Dad: "Yeah, slowl--"
Mom: "Watch out for the painting!"
Dad: "Quill already moved it. Now, boys, slowly turn your end and--"
Mom: "Don't dent the walls!"
*Nemesis moved his end too far and loses control. I threw my hand between the corner and the wall and got my hand smashed as a result. Saved the wall though.*
Mom: "What was that? That sounded bad. Don't wreck the wall!"
Me: "Oww...Nemesis, pick that stupid corner up before I kill you."
Nemesis: "I'm sorry, my hands were sweaty!"
Mom: "Don't hurt yourself!"
Me: "WELL, WHICH IS IT, HOUSE OR HAND? THOSE ARE MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE GOALS!!"
Mom: "Don't hurt your hand!"
Dad: "To heck with that! Keep your hand there--your hand will heal, the wall won't!"
Well, Dad had his priorities straight. We got the machine down there, knowing that in a week Mom would decide she wanted it out in the haybarn with the other weight equipment. Sure enough, she did. Taking it back up was easier, surprisingly...maybe we just had the routine down.
I thought that store guy had been kidding...maybe he wasn't...